Chapter Text
Gilbert groaned as he slinked out of his bed and towards the window of his bedroom. It was about ten steps across the room, Gilbert knew this because he'd slam his legs into the heater if he took eleven steps or more. He only ever took eleven though, because he'd already be in contact with the hot metal at that point. It would be stupid to take any other steps.
He chose this small room of his apartment specifically as his bedroom because it had the only window that offered a view out towards the West. He could only see the roofs of buildings and occasionally an Allied vehicle driving by, but it was more interesting than whatever was going on in the East.
Not that he was seeing anything clearly anyways. His eyes were acting up. He always had some vision problems to begin with. He has lived his whole life with a faint blur over everything he saw, but it only meant he had to hold books closer to his face.
But it had been getting worse in recent times. He tripped over a previously nonexistent rug at a meeting and even ate shit after the last step of Feliks' house blended into the snow that covered the ground.
Since those two, and multiple other incidents... Gilbert had invested in a rather cheap walking pole that bounced over any hard to see obstacles but occasionally got stuck and jabbed Gilbert in the gut.
Nothing seemed to be quite ideal for him.
Gilbert wasn't even sure why he was peering out of the window. It was late into the evening and he'd surely not see anything in the dark aside from soldiers patrolling under faint street lights and behind barbed wire.
But even through the blur, Gilbert saw a different light that was much more yellow than the official lights. He could also hear voices. Some talking civilly, others yelling, and some even cheering repetitive demands.
There was a crowd. People surrounding the nearest checkpoint and screaming about somebody "promising" something. Gilbert couldn't tell apart the individual people, but there seemed to be a growing number of them. Nothing like he had ever seen before.
Maybe he'd missed something. Didn't turn on the radio in time or didn't get the scoop on a planned mass revolution targeting the physical manifestation of the Iron Curtain itself.
So Gilbert grabbed his dreaded walking stick and the glasses he rarely wore due to them looking horrible with all his clothes. He pushed the things onto his face, almost jabbing his left eye, and wriggled the armband on the end of his stick over and around his wrist.
He could barely tighten his grip on his keys as he forced his way out of his apartment. Many of his neighbor's doors sat open or slanted, clearly their occupants had been rushing out too.
Gilbert knew a lot of the residents in his building were people with family in the West. They had been next door neighbors with their western family before a wall was suddenly erected. It was one thing he could sympathize with them over, even though the lives of a regular human and a nation were very different.
But Gilbert moved on, somehow managing to get down the stairs without tripping over his walking pole or missing a step. His footsteps echoed like thunder claps down the long stairwell. He couldn't have imagined how it would've sounded like with tens more following suit at the same time.
The approaching winter air tickled his nose when Gilbert managed out of the apartment building, making him realize he forgot to bring along a proper jacket. But he had a feeling he'd not feel cold in a short moment.
He followed vague shadows passing by him, hoping they were going towards the checkpoint. He was right, eventually falling into position with a large group of East Germans standing and waiting rather impatiently.
"Does somebody know what is going on?" Gilbert called out, hoping someone would notice his confusion and explain the sudden lack of fear from authorities. His breath hitched a bit when his walking pole was pushed into him by the crowd growing impossibility bigger and tighter.
A person in front of Gilbert, who seemed to be a young woman, turned back at the slightly worried question, and blinked in surprise. It wasn't the most usual thing to see your national representative in the middle of a forming crowd without a clue in the world, but there they both were. She gathered herself by nervously clearing her throat and speaking. "We heard it over the radio. All borders are supposed to be open immediately with no restrictions."
Gilbert's ruby eyes widened and his jaw slacked slightly as he took in what he heard. What? The borders. Open? Just like that? On a random November evening?
He looked over the crowd and towards what he could see of the checkpoint. He swore he could even see lights on the other side of the border. Allied soldiers? Maybe. Western protesters? Could be that too.
But the implications quickly came rushing into Gilbert's mind. He looked back at the girl, who was still looking at him in bewilderment. "Said who?" His eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't believe it until he heard a proper title. A proper name.
This had to be fake news.
"Schabowski said so!" The girl nodded confidently.
"Bullshit!" Gilbert spat, rather instinctively and not thought through. He glanced away for a good moment, rubbing his face as he looked into the dark of masses blurring into the dimming sky.
"It's true! Ask everyone here, we all heard and read the same thing!" The girl crossed her arms before turning back to watch if the crowd had moved forwards at all.
Gilbert's shoulders lowered, feeling a bit bad for accusing the girl of lying. Clearly she wasn't the only one that was sure of it, judging by the amounts of people taking it up with the border guards. There might be an actual chance of the checkpoints opening and East Germans being free to go where they please.
Maybe he'd be able to buy a pair of jeans.
Maybe he'd be able to see Ludwig.
Gilbert almost gasped aloud at the realization. He clasped his cold palm over his mouth, biting his lip until he tasted the metallic sensation of blood dripping through his teeth.
He could see Ludwig. His little brother that he hasn't spoken to or hugged properly in so many years now. Would they even recognize each other? How much had Ludwig changed? Not just physically but mentally? Was he doing well, under all the politics and formalities? Was there anyone keeping him company? Keeping him safe? Was he happy? Happy and content with the Allies keeping an eye over him?
Just then the crowd began to move. Cheers and cries of relief erupted from people that managed their way past the now opened gates, the guards rendered useless as people pushed through and celebrated.
Gilbert was pushed forward with the people, trying to follow the footsteps well enough that he wouldn't get trampled. He couldn't see exactly where he was going, but he realized he had made it onto the other side when the people before him disbursed and open gates sat just in the corner of his eye.
Gilbert's breath hitched, taking in the cold air of what was West Berlin. The other side of the wall was vibrant and painted with different forms of graffiti and art. Gilbert couldn't properly make out what the pieces said, probably something anti Communist Bloc or some genitalia and profanities.
He turned from the wall and looked out into the further distance of the West. He could see people watching out of their apartments and others greeting their eastern counterparts with familiar hugs or handshakes for new acquaintances.
Eastern teenagers laughed and sprinted around the open street, even climbing onto the top of the wall and laughing at the now embarrassed guards that just stood and watched. Some of the teenagers invited up western young adults to join them on the wall, all sitting together and looking over what now was an open border.
Gilbert felt an involuntary smile spread over his face. The same girl that had informed him of the news ran into the arms of what Gilbert assumed was family out of the West, cheering and jumping.
He could barely believe it. What should've been a boring night looking out of a boring window had turned to Gilbert stepping foot in West Germany.
The cold air picked up, making Gilbert shiver and clutch onto his walking pole. The ball at the end skidded over the rock pavement and bounced as it aligned with Gilbert's leg. The air was painfully silent as people settled into the slightly surreal reality they were now living in.
"Is that him?" A voice cut through a nearby alleyway, accompanied by two pairs of footsteps that were getting increasingly faster.
Gilbert turned into the direction, as the question was clearly directed at him as a subject. His eyes squinted, hoping that would help him just a little bit. Maybe it was curious Westerners wanting to meet the representative of East Germany, or some familiars he met a few years back.
Two blonde men emerged, one much taller than the other, but both wearing fairly similar green jackets. One looked surprised, almost pleased with himself, and the other stood stagnant and frozen in time.
Gilbert knew the first man. Alfred F. Jones. The United States himself. Who wouldn't know him? He was rather iconic. Infamous might be a better word to describe it. He pointed at Gilbert, seeming just as shocked as the man he was pointing out.
But the taller man next to him.
Gilbert couldn't help and let out a sob. His vision was completely gone by the time that tears blocked his eyes. Still, he staggered forwards, letting his walking stick drag behind him as his unbridled joy trickled down his cheeks.
He fell into the arms of the man, who had run just as fast to see Gilbert. The two embraced as quiet whines and sniffles fell out of both of them.
Gilbert laughed, the sound mixed with a voice-cracking wince as his arms wrapped around the man's shoulders and he was lifted slightly into the air. "Bruder..." He sobbed.
"Gilbert.." Ludwig cried back, holding his older brother tight as the wind of changing tides spun around them and chilled their tears into a cold salt on their cheeks.